


Eighth Night

by afrakaday



Series: Special Prosecutions [9]
Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hanukkah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrakaday/pseuds/afrakaday





	Eighth Night

A/N: This was written as a birthday gift for [](http://nixmom.livejournal.com/profile)[**nixmom**](http://nixmom.livejournal.com/) , but not posted until now. It's doing double duty as my contribution to the [Twelve Days of Laura Roslin](http://rememberlaura.livejournal.com/466449.html) on [](http://rememberlaura.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rememberlaura.livejournal.com/)**rememberlaura**.

December 5, 2013

“So. It’s the last time for the next 78,000 years that your birthday will fall on the last day of Hanukkah,” he said casually over his menu.

Laura snorted. “Please. I’ve heard enough of this eighty-thousand-years numerical-oddity crap for the past eight days to last me a lifetime—and beyond.”

“Still,” he said. “Seemed to call for something special.”

They didn’t make a habit of exchanging gifts for Hanukkah, and certainly not all eight nights, although Bill had adorably and gamely tried during their first year as an actual couple. Laura absentmindedly rubbed the silver bangle bracelet that she still wore nearly every day, the most memorable of many gifts from that time.

“Yeah?” she asked, sliding her foot up the inside of his calf. She closed her menu and placed it conspicuously at the edge of the table, ready for some latkes. She felt an odd yet seasonally appropriate surge of guilt at getting dinner at the deli near the train station instead of Ambrosia’s, even though they’d already eaten there twice that week.

“Yeah,” he agreed, setting his menu down as well.

He began to reach into his briefcase, but the waitress inauspiciously chose that moment to show up at the table. Laura placed both feet solidly on the floor beneath her.

“What’ll it be?”

Bill inclined his head toward Laura, giving her unspoken permission to order for them both. “Two orders of latkes, applesauce, a brisket, and the roast chicken, please.”

He smiled appreciatively at her order and handed the menus to the waitress. Waiting until the server’s back was turned, he reached toward the floor once more. "You want your present now?"

"Mmm. Sure." She winked at him. "Yours will have to wait till we get home, though."

He pulled from his briefcase a rectangular package wrapped in blue and silver spangled paper and offered it to her across the table.

"Nice wrapping job," she said.

"I made Tory do it," he admitted.

She pulled the ribbon off eagerly, then slowed down to carefully peel back the festive paper.

"Oh, Bill." She blinked in surprise, taking a moment to examine the cover, then carefully opened the battered tome and checked the publication date. "A first edition of Clarence Darrow's _Attorney for the Damned_?"

He grinned sheepishly. "I figured you probably miss the drama of the jury trial."

"Sometimes," she conceded. "This is great." A rare find, for sure. "I'm just surprised that you of all people would buy a book by a self-congratulatory defense attorney."

Bill reached for her hand across the table and gave it a squeeze. "The appearance of impartiality is paramount, Your Honor."

"You're right," she said. She moved the book to the side of the table to make room for the plate of steaming latkes being set before them. "Applesauce, sour cream, or both?"

"Definitely both," he said. "I don't discriminate."


End file.
